How To Be Responsible During Wartime
by Ashori-sama
Summary: The Allied Forces should have been discussing the current, very urgent war at hands, in a conference room. Somehow, instead, they had ended up in a bar at three in the morning. Oneshot, crack.


**AN:** My only excuse is that I have no excuse. _Warning_: crack, nations gettin' a little bit more than slizzard, lobsters, and floating bears.

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><p><strong>x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x<strong>

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><p>It was funny.<p>

The Allied Forces had come together for a meeting, the meeting, of course, relating to the current, very urgent war at hands. To say the very least, things didn't look good, especially in Europe, where most the actual fighting was occurring. Everyone was run down, beaten, exhausted, and just in overall bad shape, the only exceptions perhaps being a few of the newer nations wrangled along into the mess.

The case and point being, the main members of the Allies had joined that particular day to discuss how things should go from there on out, which supplies from whom would be sent where, whose troops would be put in which locations and how many, things of that sort.

That was what was meant to happen. In a conference room, obviously. Somehow, instead, they had ended up in a bar at about three in the morning, several of them drunk out of their minds.

Of course, none of them were actually thinking this was funny. None of them were thinking at all, really. The turning point to all of this was when France, who had said _he _was going to be the one to keep a level head and make sure no one else got too drunk, shouted out something caught between French, English and maybe something similar to Turkish, then passed out on the table.

Maybe it was the stress.

"Alfred.." England was mumbling, a lazy smirk appearing on his features. He began clawing at his former colony's dress shirt, his slender fingers trailing to toy with the buttons. "C'mere, now.. like a good lad.."

"No, Arthur!" America whimpered, making a sloppy attempt to push him away. "We can't do that! Not in front of the lobsters!"

The Englishman scowled, pressing his forehead insistently against the younger nation's.

"You and your ridic—.. ridicul—.." He paused for a moment, hiccuping. ".. _Ridiculous_ excuses. The lobsters _clearly_ don't mind."

The American stood abruptly, swaying back and forth for a moment before finding brief purchase on his stool.

"Dude.. I like, _just_ told you do get off! And.. and you _didn't_! Don't dis the lobsters!"

"Ohh, but darling.. where are you going? We're having such a grand time, aren't we?" England groaned, reaching out to grab him by the sleeve, but ending up twinging his fingers around in the air instead.

"No, man.. no. Just.. no." The American retorted, trying to slap his hand away and missing in the same manner that England had previously. "You.. you people are.. what's that one wo— _crazy_! Yeah. That's what you people are. So.. yeah. I'm.. outta' here.. or something.."

"Y-You're leaving me again.." The ex-empire whined, his attempt to grab at America more desperate, but all the more pointless.

"Yeah! I am! 'Cause.. 'cause.. your eyebrows _suck_." America declared, unknowingly pointing an accusing finger in France's direction.

Russia and China, who were the only ones that weren't drunk—Russia due to the fact that it was nearly impossible for him to get even slightly buzzed without having to chug about three gallons of vodka and China due to the fact that he ended up having to be the level headed one—exchanged a curious glance. When they looked back to the alcohol influenced scene before them, America had made his way across the room, not exactly without stumbling and tripping over his own feet most of the way.

"Let freedom ring, mother fudgers!"

All heads turned just in time to see the glorious spectacle that was the beyond drunk American proceeding to grab his crotch with one hand and flip everyone in the bar off with the other. The blond then stumbled backwards out the doorway, some sort of squealing noise he made cut off by the door slamming behind him.

At this, the Englishman burst out into tears, crying and calling out America's name, dubbing him an idiot over and over with no sign of stopping.

Russia could only blink at the dramatic display he'd just witnessed, a small smile slowly forming on his features.

"I should go and be sure he finds his way home safely and without incident, dа?" He chuckled amidst England's cries, standing and flipping the long piece of his scarf over his shoulder. "The thought of an inebriated America alone on the streets makes me more than a bit worried for the sake of his nonexistent virginity."

He waved once to China, who shuddered in response, before he made his exit as well, the door slamming once again.

The raven haired nation, now disturbed and left alone with a drunk and very, very upset England along with a still unconscious France, nervously shifted his gaze to the door. He sighed, slowly pulling himself to his feet and buttoning his jacket as silently as he could. Only the soft tapping sound of the door closing behind him indicated his swift and sneaky leave.

Meanwhile, Canada, who no one had seemed to notice for the entirety of the outing, remained silent in his chair, his face buried in his hands.

"Who are you?" The bear sitting in his lap inquired.

"I'm _Canada_." He automatically sobbed, having not have even properly heard the question over England's screaming.


End file.
